


Slithering Truths Burn

by lumosity (strawberry_bee)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley's True Form, Nonbinary Crowley, aziraphale's true form, crowley is medusa, snake haired mess, supernatural fighting basically, they're not getting along yet so it's very angsty, warning for mentioned domestic violence but dont worry they get whats coming to them, who cares about gender when ur a sanke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 05:56:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19387882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_bee/pseuds/lumosity
Summary: “Hello, boys,” Crowley said affectionately. One snake mauled another behind his ear viciously. Crowley snapped his fingers, and they obediently went limp.“No blood on my priestess robes, understand? We’ve got some torturing to do,” Crowley said brightly. He rose to his feet, going to change into a fresh flowing robe that gave him an ethereal appearance. Crowley even bothered to adorn some bracelets upon his arms, humming as he prepared.------------------------------Crowley masquerades as the mythological figure known as Medusa in ancient Greece. He helps women out of violent situations. Aziraphale eventually has an opinion about this.





	Slithering Truths Burn

The official statement on the demon Anthony J. Crowley’s report consisted of taking out the best warriors in a subsect of Grecian city-state. More specifically, this was considered excellent due to the fact that he was also taking out their best warriors. Hell thought that this would be a delightful contribution to the entire theme known as ‘warfare’. They were still not aware of the concept of betting at this time. That would occur some years later, when the events of 300 occured and Crowley became significantly richer as a result. 

In all actuality, Crowley was being...kind. Which was to say, highly illegal and definitely against the rules of whatever demon rule book that was written and promptly rendered illegible by Ligur’s greasy skin. So it was of utmost importance that Hell never found out about these good deeds. 

As well as Aziraphale. But that was neither here nor there. 

It all started as a sort of favor for a friend of a friend. Medusa was her name, a kind girl really. She had the wildest curly hair, the fiercest expression. The kind that was impossible to wipe away no matter the odds. All these things were given as second-hand details by her friend, Celia. 

“He  _ beat  _ her to death, I just know it,” Celia hissed, swaying in her seat across from Crowley. Crowley tilted his head to the side, squinting in thought. It wasn’t all that bad, being a priestess of Dionysus. He got to make a ruckus. He got a free supply of alcohol to boot. He also got all the gossip there was to the world. 

“What’s his name again?” Crowley asked. 

“May the gods grind his name into the dirt. I care not to tell you,” Celia said haughtily. Crowley held up one lazy finger. He swirled the cup of glass. Thought about how unfortunate it was that there was going to be another woman who was just going to be hurt. He let out a loud sigh.

“Bring him here tonight. The moon is at its earliest stage. Artemis shall guide my hand,” Crowley said at last.

“Oh, thank you, Priestess Asteroth. I will sacrifice a lamb to your god in your name,” Celia said, clasping Crowley’s hands in her own before darting away. Crowley watched her go, feeling like another drink was just up his alley. 

Instead he rose to his feet, the bottle of wine behind him filling with wine as he sobered up. He snatched the full bottle and waltzed into the depths of the temple. On his way he spilled the wine lazily, making a poor attempt at honoring whatever new toy that the people of Greece believed in at this point. He missed stories like Gilgamesh. At least that had been more fun than Zeus and his crew. 

Crowley stepped languidly into his chambers. He fell dramatically onto plush pillows stuffed with swan feathers carefully placed in front of the window. Crowley spent a good amount of time just lazing in front of the sun, sunbathing as he watched the smoke from offerings float just outside the window. All the while he thought of different tortures that he could inflict on a bullheaded bastard. There were worse things to fill his pretty head with, after all. 

The decline of the sun and its ensuing shadows drove Crowley back into action. He propped himself in front of a full-length mirror enlained with golden grape vines. Crowley tilted his head to the side, snake eyes glittering. Slowly his hair curled and twisted, until dozens upon dozens of snake heads reared themselves in greeting. 

“Hello, boys,” Crowley said affectionately. One snake mauled another behind his ear viciously. Crowley snapped his fingers, and they obediently went limp. 

“No blood on my priestess robes, understand? We’ve got some torturing to do,” Crowley said brightly. He rose to his feet, going to change into a fresh flowing robe that gave him an ethereal appearance. Crowley even bothered to adorn some bracelets upon his arms, humming as he prepared. 

Crowley was alerted to the fact that the show was on when, well, he heard Celia in the long corridor. She was plying a husky-voiced gentleman with favours. Promises of a night never experienced since her husband had died. Crowley smirked in the mirror. Oh, he was sure of that. 

Crowley hid behind the mirror until the couple came in. The torch that the man carried blinded Crowley only momentarily, but that was just as well. He wouldn’t be able to see him until it was too late. 

“A cheap whore is what you’re bringing me to,” The man scoffed, kicking Crowley’s stray pillow aside. Crowley rolled his eyes. The man looked like he had spent more time with whores than he did with his lawfully wedded wife. He absolutely despised cheaters. Sometimes demons had morals, although the category only had one demon in it, and that would be Crowley. 

A snake hissed softly by his ear. It was time. 

“In the name of Medusa, I shall have your mortal flesh,” Crowley hissed, stepping from behind the mirror. Celia had stepped behind the warrior, who thrust his torch forwards to see Crowley in the darkness. 

“How dare you speak her-” The man’s voice broke off in a strangled yell. It was quite easy for Crowley to turn him to stone. The secret was that he only turned his skin to stone. Underneath there was a very alive man who was about to have a very short, yet very long death. 

“Priestess Asteroth, you have been blessed,” Celia gasped, dropping to her knees and bowing to Crowley. 

“I am Medusa now. In honor of your friend. If there are others, tell them to follow the grapevines,” Crowley said, striding past her and down the long hallway. 

He wasn’t going to be missing his role of a Dionysus disciple anyhow. It was too boring. 

For a time he did not get any other requests. He figured that Celia was scared speechless. Which was rather unfortunate. Yet, as most things go, humans who were desperate got curious enough to search out the fabled Medusa. 

The second woman who came to him in his garden was a girl of fourteen. Her legs were shredded from the thorns that Crowley kept about the garden. He wanted to ensure that anyone who wanted this curse of his enacted gave blood for the chance. It also meant that no animals could get in to eat his plants. Except for the birds, but he usually scared them away with a look.

“Lady Medusa, I thought you were only a legend,” The girl said warily, keeping her eyes askance. Crowley tilted his head, the snakes hissing softly into his ears. 

“My child, why is it that you avoid my eyes?” Crowley asked kindly. He glanced at her legs, and they were healed. 

“L-legend says that your gaze turns  _ anyone  _ to stone,” the girl explained haltingly. 

“You are wise to follow such truth,” Crowley said, reaching out to pluck a leaf from the girl’s hair. The girl flinched, and Crowley drew his hand away.

“Who will be tempted into my garden?” Crowley asked softly. The girl told him in a hush, her shoulders dropping with the weight of the secret being spoken aloud. 

“Bring your brother. He shall decorate my garden and never lay another hand upon you,” Crowley said. 

“Thank you, Medusa,” the girl whispered, before running off the way she came. Crowley slunk into the shadows, smiling. It had been awhile. He hoped that more would come after this one. It got boring, being without humanity for long. 

This time the brother came along with his two comrades, laughing and kicking through the underbrush. 

“That bitch, we should have her whipped for this lie!” called the leader. Crowley watched from the shadows, noticing their swords, their shields. He smirked. Hopefully they would try to attack him before he turned them to stone. Crowley was really wanting some pillars for his vines to grow upon. 

“Cybill won’t be able to walk for days after we get back. Come along boys, just a bit further and then we can prove to her that there’s no such thing as witches or monsters,” the leader encouraged. 

“Who dares awaken the wrath of Medusa?” Crowley growled. The men hesitated for only half a heartbeat. But, as most fools are, they decided that the threat of a woman was nothing to fear. 

“We’re here to bring you back to society, Medusa. To your husband, I’m sure he’ll have an open palm for your rebellious ways,” The leader said. 

Crowley, this time, turned them to stone little by little. 

It was quite fun to watch them scream with their lips turned to stone, their nostrils flaring. It only drew the birds in, to peck at their ears, their noses. 

He quite forgot about them, until some days later the buzzing of their cries ceased for good. Which was unfortunate, he had really intended to enact some other things he was thinking about while deciding how the vinery would frame their statues. 

After those three, and the mouth of Cybill, Crowley got a sustainable amount of customers coming his way. He wasn’t sure when the tradition of a request turned to giving him gifts, but he wasn’t one to complain.

In time his garden was lined with the finest of family heirlooms that all of the women could bear to give up in exchange for freedom. He quite enjoyed himself, getting drunk on fine wines and occasionally killing men when they arrived. It always amused him the things they thought up.

Until, one fine morning when he was deciding which statues to destroy to make for others, he heard a familiar voice cursing loudly as it stomped through the thicket. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, spinning around. Of course, it would take Aziraphale approximately ten more minutes to get through the rest of the overgrown thorns. Crowley felt only the smallest amount of guilt. After all, if Aziraphale had arrived earlier, such as a few centuries ago, he wouldn’t have to go through thorns that blocked out the sun. 

“Eugh, my gracious, I know all of God’s creations are delightful but honestly, thorns?” Aziraphale said, breaking into the clearing. He held a mirrored shield in one hand, a sword in the other. 

“Mmm, mirrors, don’t work. Besides help me look scarier,” Crowley said, leaning against a statue of some consul’s son. 

“Crowley!” Azirapahle said, brightening. He dropped his sword and shield, stomping over to Crowley. 

“Medusa, actually. For the past hundred or so years,” Crowley corrected. 

“Well, I love the hairdo. And the gown, it creates a very cutting figure on you,” Aziraphale said approvingly. He glanced around, seeming to admire the strange art exhibit for a moment. Crowley graciously waited for him to remember that he was supposed to be mad.

Aziraphale sized up an elderly man of 45. Aziraphale spotted a young teenager mid battle-cry. Aziraphale twisted his head to admire a statue in a mid leap. Very dynamic, in Crowley’s opinion. Alas, Aziraphale finally turned to Crowley in horror. 

“You’re the one who’s been turning all these God fearing men to stone?” Aziraphale gasped. 

“Oh, no no, they worship idols remember?” Crowley replied easily. He was waiting for an argument like this. 

“That may be so, but they’re still God’s creatures!” Aziraphale said, looking positively pained as he touched the bicep of a nearby statue. 

“God does make some gorgeous looking statues, it’s true,” Crowley joked lightly. Aziraphale smiled, a moment later realizing what he was insinuating. Crowley moved away before Aziraphale could think up a suitable retort. 

“So you’ve come to kill the Gorgon? The Medusa of lore?” Crowley hissed, spinning through the statues. He heard Aziraphale following behind, felt his heart quicken. 

This was going to be fun. 

“If you don’t stop, I’ll have to. Have to cut your head off, or something,” Aziraphale called. 

“Mmm, I quite like this head I’m afraid,” Crowley called back teasingly. He worked his way around so that Aziraphale was tromping just in front of him. He reached out, brushing the nape of the angel’s neck before slipping away. 

“Crowley, this isn’t funny anymore. I don’t much like killing you anymore either,” Aziraphale said.    
Crowley laughed. At the moment, they were pretty even when it came to the whole killing each other over the millenium bit. He wondered if this would cause Aziraphale to come ahead. He hoped not. He really hated losing. 

They continued their intricate game of cat and mouse. At some point Aziraphale abandoned all pretenses of his human form. Eyes erupted from his skin, fire crackled menacingly as his wings unfolded. The statues around Aziraphale blackened in the wake of his light. Crowley began to slink, slithering from the shadows that Aziraphale gave him to hide behind. Occasionally Aziraphale would trip up on Crowley’s coils. One heart rending moment involved Crowley’s scales being blistered from Aziraphale’s holy light. 

“Let’s end this now, serpent,” Aziraphale snarled, voice echoing.

“I quite agree, angel. Let’s see who is in favor of God today,” Crowley said, twining his body up the frame of the largest man he had turned to stone. He rose to his full height, meeting Aziraphale’s grace with unflinching damnation. 

“May you find mercy in the eyes of our lord,” Aziraphale said, and lunged. Crowley reared his head back, snarling. Together they plummeted to the ground. Crowley burned, Aziraphale smoldered from being smothered. Their thrashing destroyed Crowley’s garden of men, the stone incinerating from the heat of Aziraphale’s rage. 

At last, at last. Crowley fell into his human form as Aziraphale pinned him to the forest floor. At some point Aziraphale had picked up that wretched sword of his. Obediently Crowley tilted his chin up, embracing the feel of steel against his throat.

“They were monsters, angel. I did what you wish you could,” Crowley said softly, feeling very, very reckless with Aziraphale on top of him.

“Stop with your lies, fiend,” Aziraphale spat, his chest heaving. Crowley smirked. 

“C’mon, murder doesn’t count when it’s me,” Crowley goaded. Aziraphale jerked his arm, and Crowley gasped, expecting to feel the ache of losing the ability to breathe. Instead he felt the blood dribble down his throat, dangerously close to the thundering of his heart in his chest. 

He screeched as Aziraphale picked him up by his hair. He felt every single snake die with Aziraphale’s sword. Crowley dropped to the floor with the last snake beheaded.

“You will stop this game, Crowley. Or next time I will have the mother’s head,” Aziraphale said, one sandal kicking a head away. Crowley watched it roll in the dirt, feeling very wretched indeed. He watched Aziraphale start to walk away, felt that he would never be able to live if he didn’t get him to stay. 

“And let all the daughters of Eve continue to suffer? I know she was your favorite,” Crowley burst out, “you cried when you found out her son killed her other one. The one that was born after Eden.” 

Aziraphale paused, the grip on his sword tight. Crowley wondered if he had changed his mind. Yet he remained in the dirt. There would be no point in getting up now, it would just encourage the angel to keep believing his side of things. 

“Never use her name again,” Aziraphale said shortly. He dropped the blade in the dirt, and in a white-hot flash of light, was gone. 

Crowley was left to crawl amongst the ashes of his creation.

**Author's Note:**

> drop me a line at femmeaziraphale. love ya <3


End file.
